


The Angel Room - Vignettes from the Bunker: "Breakpoint"

by CatherineinNB



Series: The Angel Room [18]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bunker Fic, But some angst too, Canon Compliant, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s14e10 Nihilism, Feelings, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, How the Hell did Dean Keep it Together Anyway, Season/Series 14, Season/Series 14 Spoilers, The Effects of Having an Archangel in Your Noggin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-31
Updated: 2019-03-31
Packaged: 2019-12-27 04:10:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18296561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatherineinNB/pseuds/CatherineinNB
Summary: Makael's grace has fully recovered, but Dean's spiraling as Michael becomes immune to the effects of Makael's voice.This takes place after "Nihilism," and before "Damaged Goods." I've decided to do a series of vignettes from around the Bunker as Makael recovers. Mostly fun and fluff, but this episode is a little heavy on the feels.In this installment, Makael struggles with keeping Dean's secret about Death's revelations from the other members of Team Free Will, and Dean reaches out to her as he loses hope.Author's Note: I've also included some love for the SPNFamily at the end of the entry, in the notes section. Hugs, all.





	The Angel Room - Vignettes from the Bunker: "Breakpoint"

**Author's Note:**

> See additional notes at end of fic.

_**Breakpoint:** _

“Sam!”

Makael bursts urgently into the Bunker’s library, and Sam looks up from the book he’s poring over, his expression morphing from concentration to concern.

“What is it?” he asks, pushing the book aside. “You okay?”

“I … yes, Sam, I’m fine.” Makael pauses in her rush just short of the table, and smiles at Sam, feeling warmth at his immediate concern for her. Then she throws herself into the chair opposite him, and gives him a serious look. “It’s just … I just found out it’s your brother’s birthday next week.”

Sam’s brow furrows. “Oh. Yeah, it is. On Thursday. Why?”

Makael lets out a relieved sigh. “Oh, good. You remembered. What are you planning?”

Sam gives her a blank stare. “Planning?”

“Yes. A party, or a night out? Perhaps an excursion to a strip club, or dinner? Or … what?”

Sam’s started chuckling at her. He shakes his head at her query. “You’re … it’s just, you’re an angel suggesting we go to a strip club.”

Makael frowns. “Neither you nor Dean are the kind of humans who objectify people, Sam. And there’s nothing wrong with a healthy admiration of the human form,” she says, very seriously, then adds, “God created it, after all. _And_ attraction to it.”

“Uh—” Sam’s cheeks have started turning pink, and he clears his throat. Makael has noticed that this often means he’s uncomfortable about something (although often, as in this case, she has no idea _what_ ), so she refocuses on the subject at hand.

“In any case, what _are_ your plans? I’d like to help.”

“Uh, right. Well, typically, we _don’t_ —make plans, that is. We don’t tend to make a big deal of that kind of stuff around here. I’ll probably grab him some nice whiskey, or take him out for a beer, or something—if he’s feeling up for it.”

Makael wilts a bit at that last part. Over the past few days, Michael’s started resisting the sound of her voice, somehow, and he’s escalating again—quickly. Dean’s currently taking Baby out for a spin, likely with the volume cranked all the way up on the sound system so he can drown out the screaming and pounding in his head. She’s tried everything she can think of, including singing songs that she’d last sung in the Throne Room, to try to overcome Michael’s growing resistance, but so far, nothing’s working.

And their research is going nowhere. Castiel and Jack traveled to three additional capitulums after they ran out of new material from Makael’s library and the Portsmouth chapter house. One had undergone repeated flooding over the years after it was abandoned, and any useful materials had rotted to nothing, were rendered completely illegible, or had simply washed away. Another looked like it had been intentionally burned out decades ago—perhaps when Abbadon wiped out the Men of Letters. A third was intact, but was completely empty: swept clean by someone or something (which was a concern, but with so many other ones that were more pressing, they simply didn’t have the time or energy to investigate further).

Sam sees her distress; he reaches across the table and takes her hand briefly in his, squeezing it gently. “You gave him a reprieve, Makael, that he otherwise wouldn’t have had. Don’t beat yourself up because Michael’s figured out a way around it. And Dean? He’s strong.”

Of course, he doesn’t know. Doesn’t know about Death’s shelves upon shelves of books showing that _Dean ends_ with Michael getting out. Doesn’t know about the world going up in flames, or about the Ma’lak box. Doesn’t know about Dean’s plan to lock himself in a coffin for all eternity with the thing that is trying to break him.

She really, _really_ hates secrets.

But Dean made her promise not to say anything, and she keeps her word.

Even if she hates it.

She chooses what she says next carefully.

“You’re right. Maybe going out somewhere for his birthday isn’t the best idea right now. But … with everything going on, Sam, I feel like it’s really important that we do _something_ to celebrate.”

Sam frowns, his eyes focused and intent, as if he can sense she’s holding something back. Finally, he shakes his head and forces a smile. “I mean, it’s not like this is exactly out of the norm for us—there’s always something going on, every year. But, if it’s important to you? Then I’m putting you officially in charge of organizing Dean’s birthday.”

Makael has been noticing, lately, that her emotions are becoming more … muted. She hates that, too. But at Sam’s words, happiness appears inside of her like the sun coming out suddenly in the wake of a rainstorm, filling every dulled part of her with brightness. “Oh,” she says, beaming. “I’d—I’d really like that. Are you sure it’s okay?”

Sam gives her a warm smile, and the sunshine inside of her somehow manages to brighten even further. “Yeah. I know you’ll do a great job, Em.”

Over the next twenty-four hours, Makael comes up with a plan of action and begins putting things into motion. After a quick trip back to our world with her laptop, she returns home, then takes aside Cas and Sam and speaks with them. She talks to Jack separately, and is rewarded with his immediate and enthusiastic agreement. She borrows the “little red car,” as she calls it, from the Bunker’s garage (Dean’s told her it’s a ‘58 MGA, but she still refers to it as “the little red car” as retribution for the fact that he still occasionally calls her “Pebbles”). Makael spends an afternoon in town picking up various items before returning back to the Bunker and sneaking the items into her room.

Over the coming days, she makes another trip back to our world and multiple visits to the Lebanon post office.

Meanwhile, things with Dean are getting worse. He’s drawn, and there are circles under his eyes. There are times when his eyes go unfocused when someone is talking to him, and he has to have them repeat themselves, or he’ll stumble as he’s walking, his hand going to his temple. Makael’s worried about the amount of sleep he’s getting, and that’s saying something, given how little sleep the Winchesters tend to have in general.

By the Tuesday before his birthday, Makael’s voice has become completely ineffective in providing any kind of relief.

He doesn’t talk about any it, of course.

It is a well-known fact that Winchesters just don’t talk about the most important stuff.

Which still drives Makael crazy.

She runs into Dean at a little after 3am on the day of his birthday, sitting in the library, staring blankly at the thick book in front of him. He doesn’t notice her, and after a few moments she realizes that he’s not actually reading anything, either. She tucks the item she was carrying surreptitiously behind a book on the nearest shelf, and then makes her way over to the table.

“Dean,” she says softly.

She draws up the chair next to him as he looks up, blinking slowly. He rubs his hand over his jaw distractedly, something that both he and Sam tend to do—a familial trait. It warms her, even as she notices that he needs to shave.

“Hey, Pebbles,” he says, forcing something that might pass for a smile—if she wasn’t paying attention. She scowls at him, and he chuckles. “Em,” he amends.

Makael sits, and waits.

Finally, he says, “I think it may be time.” His eyes flick briefly to hers, and away.

She feels her stomach drop, as if the floor had just disappeared beneath her and she’s falling.

She swallows, needing a second to reorient herself as emotion swamps her. The last time Makael felt this distraught was when she actually _was_ Falling. She blinks, trying desperately to banish the moisture that’s sprung up behind her eyes.

“You mean, time for the box,” she says, needing him to confirm that this really is what he’s talking about.

“Yeah.” He swallows, too. He glances at the floor, then raises his eyes to meet hers. “Time for the box.”

Makael bites the inside of her cheek to help her focus on something other than the grief that’s threatening to drown her. “Tell me,” she says, quietly.

Dean groans, dropping his head to his hands, elbows on the table. “I’m … I’m getting tired, Em,” he says. “He just … it doesn’t stop. He _never stops_. And I’m just not sure how much longer I—” He goes silent abruptly, dropping the hand closest to Makael and tilting his head toward her. “I can’t let him get out,” he whispers, his eyes filling with tears.

Makael takes a moment to compose herself. Then she nods, slips from her chair to kneel next to his, and takes his hand in hers as his tears spill over and run down his face, dripping, unheeded, on the open book.

“I’m trying,” he says. “I really am. But I’m so damn _tired_.”

Makael squeezes his hand, nods. She makes herself stay steady for him. “Okay, Dean,” she says. She leans her head against the table, holding his gaze, willing him to feel the solidarity of her presence even though she has no words. They stay that way for a long time, with Dean gripping her hand so hard it almost hurts as the tears continue to escape his eyes. His breath is steady, his expression slack, as if bringing himself to emote further would just expend energy that he doesn’t have.

This, in and of itself, frightens her. Dean is a fidgeter—always full of restless energy, always needing to take some sort of action, even if it’s just finding a case. It drives Sam crazy, all that restiveness spilling over in feet-tapping and finger drumming and pacing, the relentless need to be constantly _doing_. But it’s what makes Dean _Dean_.

This? This motionlessness, the vacancy in his affect? This isn’t Dean at all.

“So, next steps,” she says, finally. Maybe talking about doing something—even if it’s something as awful as _this_ —will help him. She's noticed in the past that it's helped other humans cope in the midst of difficult situations.

Dean blinks once, twice, before responding, as if it’s taking longer than normal for him to process words. Then he takes a deep breath. “Go to Donna’s cabin. Send Mom out on a few errands while I’m there so I have the back shed to myself. Build the box. Charter a boat. Go the Pacific. Get in the box. The end.” His green eyes stay unfocused, as if he’s visualizing what he’s saying rather than seeing her or any of the space that surrounds them.

It takes all of Makael’s willpower to keep her exterior self neutral, calm. “Do you want me to go with you?”

Dean’s eyes finally fix back on Makael, and he gives her a ghost of a smile. “I love you for offering to do that, but … I think this will be a solo trip. Have a few people I wanna say goodbye to.”

Makael nods. “Okay.” She takes a deep breath. “When?”

Dean frowns. The silence draws out between them as he weighs things, comes to a decision. “Today. Or tomorrow.” he says.

_Fuck._

“Okay. Would tomorrow be okay? I have some stuff I’d like to do before you go,” she offers.

Dean’s eyes narrow. “No big goodbyes, Em. I don’t do goodbyes, and besides—I don’t want the others to know this _is_ goodbye. I couldn’t … I can’t say goodbye to them. I just can’t.”  

Makael regards him steadily for a long moment, thinking through her options. Then she shakes her head. “No big goodbyes. I promise,” she says.

Dean continues to look at her through narrowed eyes, but Makael’s gotten past being intimidated by the laserlike green focus. She holds his gaze, keeping her expression mild. Finally, he nods. “Tomorrow,” he says. He pushes back his chair, as if to stand, and only then seems to register that he’s still holding Makael’s hand. He looks at it with something like surprise, and then lets go.

She flexes her fingers as the blood rushes back to her digits, a distracted part of her mind wondering if she’ll have bruising there tomorrow.

Nothing she can’t heal, now that her grace is restored—and it’s a small price to pay, anyway, if it’s just helped Dean hold himself together as he sat looking down the narrowing tunnel of his future.

“I guess I’ll go try to get some shuteye,” he says as she rises to her feet, too. “I literally have no idea what I was reading before you came in, anyway.”

She nods. He starts to turn away, and she says, “Dean?”

He stops, turns back to face her, his eyes questioning.

She takes a breath. “I’m sorry.” She was intending to say more, had so much more to say, but her voice breaks on the _sorry_ , and her throat closes up with emotion, and she can’t say anything else.

Dean’s Adam’s apple bobs. “You tried,” he says, flashing her a ragged smile as he blinks rapidly. “All of you. Sam, Cas, Jack, you. I … come here.” He steps forward, wraps her up in a hug.

They stand that way for a long moment, and Makael’s not really sure who’s comforting whom.

Finally, Dean steps lets go, claps her gently and awkwardly on the back. “Shuteye,” he says, gesturing with his chin toward the hallway. His tone is light, but his voice is thick.

Makael forces a smile. “Yes. Get some sleep, Dean,” she says.

He nods, and a moment later he’s gone.

She listens to his retreating steps down the hallway, and sits abruptly. She takes several long, steadying breaths, closes her eyes, works to clamp down on all the sorrow that is roiling within.

It takes a long time, but finally, as she stares blankly at the opposite wall of the library, a familiar phrase floats through her mind. In its wake, she sits up straighter, and determination settles over her. 

“You have work to do,” she says out loud, picturing the Impala trunk slamming down from overhead.

And while it’s not stopping Michael or saving the world, it  _ is  _ all for Dean Winchester—and for Makael, that’s just as damn important right now. So, even though she’s feeling like she’s stitched together with gossamer threads that could snap at any moment, she gets up. 

And gets started.

**END SCENE.**

 

 **Notes:**  
So, SPNFamily. We had some hard news recently, and a lot of us are really struggling. So, first and foremost, I wanna just share love and let you know that you are NOT alone. I have been seeing the reaction of fans across Twitter and YouTube and so many people are heartbroken, even while we understand the decision and want to support Jared, Jensen, and Misha. People are literally talking to their therapists about this. So if you are having a hard time—you really aren’t the only one. And I, for one, am sending you so much love and support across the ether.

I actually heard the news while I was writing. I was a little further along than where this entry leaves off (I ended up breaking this up into two separate parts because it was getting super long), and was writing a very intensely emotional Sam and Makael scene when I saw the video announcement come up on FB, where I have Misha’s posts set to prompt notifications. Literally felt like I was gonna throw up. Sobbed at my computer. I was also going through part one of a two-part AWFUL bug, so between everything it’s taken me a while to get to the point where I was done with this enough to polish and post it. I think, although it’s a bit of an “in-the-feels” entry into the _Bunker Vignettes_ series, the timing is perhaps appropriate, because, like Makael, we’ve all felt stunned and heartbroken and impotent in the face of _our_ news. And it’s in acknowledging shared pain that we find our shared strength.

The response of the wider SPNFamily has been incredible. I know some of you don’t follow Twitter or the fandom closely outside of AO3, so just wanted to share some examples of how fucking incredible this fandom is as a form of encouragement:

  * Jared, Jensen, and Misha have been showered with love and support for their decision.
  * At a general con (not fandom-specific), SPN fans found each other as the news broke, and Robbie Thompson (who used to write for the show) made a safe space at his booth for people to come together and support each other.
  * Misha’s written an incredible letter of support to all of us—if you haven’t read it yet, it’s on his FB, Insta, and Twitter. It’s absolutely fucking beautiful.
  * I’ve witnessed people checking in on each other on Twitter, just offering solidarity and love for each other.



I’ve seen the absolute best of the SPNFamily come out to face this head on with kindness and gentleness and love. Just needed to share that here, with all of you.

Okay. Fic-specific notes:  
1) **Legwork:** As I mentioned in the first entry in this Bunker series, I really wanted to explore the unseen work that had gone on between “Nihilism” and “Damaged Goods.” We know TFW 2.0 had been working to help Dean, but we didn’t get to see what they had actually been doing. So this series was, in part, meant to be a place where I got to play and fill in the blanks. Hence, all of the info in this entry about the additional capitulum trips by Cas and Jack. (I’ve always wondered why they haven’t done this in the show proper, or at least mentioned it. There’s gotta be a treasure trove of stuff sitting around in all the abandoned Men of Letters hideouts.)  
2) **That ‘58MGA:** If you look at pictures of the Bunker’s garage, you’ll see a little red car in there that I just _knew_ would be what Makael chose to drive. But I had no idea what kind of car it was, since I am not a car person, and couldn’t find any info on it through typical fan resource pages. I _could_ have just written it as a little red car, but I knew that Dean would take great pride in telling Makael all about the cars in that garage, so I threw the question up on Twitter. And this is why I love this fandom: I asked @SuperWiki for a retweet, and they retweeted it, and in the end, that little tweet got over 4,000 engagements (I have a _minuscule_ Twitter account, just for context). So many people retweeted and commented and shared pictures, and between us we figured out that it was definitely a late 1950s/early 1960s MG. I was also told that it was definitely an MGA, _not_ an MGB. After doing a little bit of further research, I discovered it was 1958 when Abbadon wiped out the MOL, so that’s how I settled on a final year. So that one little detail is totally due to the amazing SPNFamily, and I am so grateful!  
3) **Trans-Dimensional Trips:** What do you think Makael’s little trip home was all about? (Answers in the next fic, which should be up in the next couple of days. It’s well on its way to being finished.)  
4) **Pebbles:** So, I was reminded by a Tweet during the fallout of the big news that Jensen has called Misha and Jared his “pebbles” (as in, Danneel is his rock, but he has “some amazing pebbles in [his] life” who help to keep him grounded). And then I realized that this was something that Mika had brought up here in the comments of a previous fic, before I introduced the nickname “Pebbles” for Makael. It was TOTALLY subconscious that I did—and in the fic it’s a teasing nickname for her freakout over getting goosebumps for the first time and thinking she had contracted a deadly illness—but it made me super happy that I had. And _then_ I realized that in this whole scene that I had already written, before the news came out, Makael was being Dean’s pebble. And so the symmetry here made me really ridiculously happy.  
5) **Feelings:** There’s a lot of emotion, a lot of fragility, in this entry. Like I said above, I wrote it before the news broke, but I think it echoes a lot of what we’ve all been feeling over the past week and a bit. More inadvertent symmetry. So, although the emotions are difficult, I think it’s appropriate timing. And I think, again, Makael and Dean model a good response for all of us: let’s be there for each other. Let’s support each other, and listen, and be honest. Let’s be each other’s pebbles.

Love you, SPNFam. So damn much.


End file.
